


Poison, True Love and Vampirates

by knightinbrightfeathers



Category: Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Magic, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Princess Bride Fusion, F/F, F/M, Fanfiction, M/M, Not Carry On Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 05:03:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5116577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightinbrightfeathers/pseuds/knightinbrightfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>("Once upon a time," Wren began.<br/>"Oh, shut it," Cath said.)</p><p>Or, knightinbrightfeathers' classic tale of true love and high adventure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poison, True Love and Vampirates

**Author's Note:**

> The Princess Bride AU no one asked for.  
> Okay, that was a lie. rhien kind of asked for it. At the very least, she was very encouraging, so you can blame her. I generally do.
> 
> And for all you people who don't read tags: this is not a Carry On fic. I haven't read Carry On yet, so no spoilers in the comments please. Thank you.

(“Hello,” Wren said.

Cath blinked at her. “Were you watching me sleep?”

“Yes,” Wren said. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.”

Wren nodded sympathetically. “I have something that will make you feel better,” she said.

“Kleenex?” Cath asked. “Orange juice? The cool, blessed relief of death?”

“Better!” Wren held up the stack of pages on her lap. “Wrenegade’s Classic Tale of True Love and High Adventure!”

“You’re using my inability to get out of bed to make me beta you.”

“Think of it as you being my test group,” Wren said. “Besides, it’s The Princess Bride. Fencing. Fighting. Torture. Poison. True Love. Vampirates. Boys kissing.”

“Pretty sure the last two aren’t in the original.”)

 

There have been rankings of men according to attractiveness for longer than there has been written language. The first such list, long predating Vogue, is dated by historians to Moses’s time and compares different priests to each other. King David was ranked high on the list in biblical times; Achilles topped it during his time, and years after. In northern Wales, an unknown named “Cadfael” is described in a list dating from 1754 “the most beautiful boy alive, and moreover, inclined towards long runs in the hills without his shirt”. Such are the follies of youth.

There was a time, when mapmakers drew dragons on maps, when, in a small village in Florin, it was practically a rite of passage, if you were so inclined, to crush on Simon Snow. Once you’d reached puberty, it was only a matter of time before you started going on about golden curls or mesmerizing blue eyes. Old women cooed, young women sighed, young men coughed into their fists and talked about axes and bears. This was before Glamour, but if Glamour had existed, and they had been to that little village in Florin, Simon Snow, at sixteen, would have been number seventy four on the list.

This may not sound like much, but Simon was, at the time, a pizza-faced teenager (this was after pizza) who had not yet gotten his growth spurt. He rarely washed, and his curls were matted and overgrown. He was on the list through pure potential, not unlike a young Chris Evans.

(“Really?” Cath glared blearily at her twin. “Chris Evans?”

“Please, you saw that movie with me. Besides, aren’t tall blond lumberjacks your type or something?”)

Simon lived on a farm with his father, a strange, lonely old man who made bad judgement calls. The only other person that lived on the farm was the hired boy, only a few years older than Simon. This boy was called Baz, but Simon called him “Farm Boy”. They fought when they talked, which was rarely, but Baz obeyed Simon’s every command. Simon had only to say, “Farm Boy, fetch that,” or “Farm Boy, do this,” and Baz would say, “As you wish.”

Bicker though they might, Baz truly was Simon’s only companion. Bickering was much better than the conversations he had with the village girls and boys, which would go like so:

“The apples are ripening.”

“Yes, they are.”

“Would you like one?”

“No, thanks.”

“You think you’re too good for anybody, don’t you, Snow?”

“No, I’m just not hungry.”

It only got worse as Simon got older. By the time he was seventeen, he would have placed number sixty two on the list, and conversations went like this:

“Those clouds are very dark.”

“Yes, they are.”

“Do you think it’s going to rain?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“You think you’re too good for anybody, don’t you, Snow?”

“No, I just don’t think it’s going to rain.”

By the time he was eighteen, he was number fifty on the list, and conversations with anyone remotely his age who wasn’t Baz consisted of the boy or girl blushing and stammering while staring at their feet. This caused them to resent Simon, and he stayed away from the village unless he had errands to run. There was always something to do on the farm, Baz to mock, his father to cook for.

The farm did well with Baz in it. He had a knack, and so, as the years progressed, the farm prospered. And Simon grew more and more beautiful.

Isolated as it was, and reclusive as its inhabitants were, they still got plenty of passing traffic. By the time Simon was nineteen, it was an odd day when a passer-by didn’t stop to stare over the fence at him. Simon regarded this with blasé, although he did ogle some of the nicer carriages.

So he didn’t think much of the cloaked and hooded figure on a black stallion until said figure rode right up to the doorstep.

“Father,” Simon called, “there’s a nobleman here to see you.” He could see the crest emblazoned on the man’s silken cloak through the kitchen window. It displayed a stick crossed with a sword.

Simon’s father came into the kitchen, saw the crest, and paled. “You see to him, Simon,” he said.

“But-“

“Do as I say,” Simon’s father said. His pointy beard quivered.

Simon sighed and opened the door, looking up into the shadows of the noble’s hood. The only part of the face he could see was a mustache.

“Yes?” he asked politely, before remembering that one bowed to nobles. He did so, clumsily.

“I am the Count, and I wish to see your cows,” the noble said.

“Our cows?” Simon asked. “Why?”

“They are the best in Florin,” the Count said.

Simon’s father’s cows were decidedly not the best in Florin. For one thing, the farm had no cows.

Simon glanced at the sword hanging from the noble’s waist. “Farm Boy!” he shouted.

A moment later, Baz appeared around the corner, wiping his hands on his overalls. (This was after overalls, but before they were worn with shirts, so Baz’s shoulders glinted in the afternoon sunlight.)

(“Gross,” Cath said. She definitely wasn’t blushing. She was a porn-writing veteran, for heaven’s sakes. It was the fever, that was all.

Wren rolled her eyes. “What are you, five?”)

Baz’s shoulders glinted in the afternoon sunlight.

(“You just read that line,” Cath said.

“Whoops, typo,” Wren said innocently. “That’s why you’re the best beta ever.”

“Bullshit,” Cath said. “You just wanted to read it again.”)

“You called?” Baz asked warily, eyeing the horse and its rider.

“This noble, er, this Count wants to see our cows,” Simon said.

Baz blinked. “Our cows,” he said.

Simon nodded. “Our cows.”

“Right,” Baz said slowly. “Uh. We don’t actually have cows.” This was said in a tone of voice that wanted everyone to know that the speaker was a good person who didn’t deserve to have their reality cast into question. “But we do have Bandyleg Crumblesnoots, if my… my lord wishes?”

“Yes, Crumblesnoots, exactly. I don’t know why I said cows; must have been one of those slips of the tongue,” the Count said. He dismounted from the horse. “Show the way.”

“Um, sir?” Simon said. “Where would you like your horse tied up?”

The Count waved a gloved hand in dismissal. “No need. It’ll stay.” He followed Baz around the corner of the farmhouse, and Simon followed the noble. He forgot about the dinner cooking on the stove. He forgot about his father’s strange reaction to the Count. There was a strange, burning sensation in his stomach as he watched the Count watch Baz, who was watching the Crumblesnoots closely, lest they bite somebody. There was a possessive glint in the Count’s near-invisible eyes as he asked questions. The burning in Simon’s stomach surged.

Probably indigestion, Simon thought.

 

(“It’s supper, not dinner,” Cath said.

“See? Best beta ever,” Wren said, grabbing Cath’s middle-of-the-night-ideas pen from the nightstand.

“Keep reading,” Cath mumbled.)

 

That night, Simon tossed and turned in his bed. He couldn’t stop thinking of the Count looking at Baz? Who did he think he was, coming to the farm like that? What kind of stupid rich person rode all the way to Asscrack, Florin just to ask some stupid farm boy how he groomed Bandyleg Crumblesnoots? Didn’t he have his own farm boy to ask stupid questions? Couldn’t he see Baz was Simon’s farm boy? Who did he think he was, looking at Baz with that look in his eyes, like… like…

Simon threw off the covers and began pacing around his room, mind churning.

Who dressed like that, anyways? Who wore stupid satin cloaks with stupid gloves and stupid moustaches? Who looked like that at other people’s… other people’s…

Simon groaned, clutching his hair. Try as he might, all he saw was Baz’s inscrutable expression as he answered the Count’s questions. What did he think he was doing, looking like that? Did he want to leave and work for the Count? Did he hate the farm? All right, so maybe it wasn’t the best place, and maybe Simon’s father wasn’t a great boss, and maybe Bandyleg Crumblesnoots were a vicious thankless species that bit the hand that fed them and chewed on its fingers, but he had no right thinking of leaving! Why, hadn’t Simon’s father treated Baz like his own son?

What if the problem wasn’t the farm, or Simon’s father, or the Crumblesnoots, but Simon? What if Baz thought Simon hated him? What if he hated Simon? What if he left? He couldn’t leave. Simon didn’t hate Baz at all…

It was almost dawn when Simon knocked on the door of Baz’s little hut behind the farmhouse. If Baz was surprised to see a wide eyed Simon with his hair standing up on his doorstep, he didn’t show it.

“Please don’t leave,” Simon blurted. His eyes flicked down to Baz’s naked chest, and then back up again. He closed his eyes. “You can’t leave. I need you here, Farm Boy. Baz. I’ve never called you that before, I think. Don’t leave, Baz. If you left, I don’t know what I’d do. I can’t be without you. I’ve wasted so much time, time in which you didn’t know how I felt. I didn’t know how I felt. But now I do, Baz, and I need you to stay. Because I-” Simon opened his eyes and gazed into Baz’s. “I love you.”

Baz shut the door in his face.

Simon stared at the door. He clapped a hand over his mouth and, turning, ran back towards the farmhouse. Tears spilled over his cheeks, blinding him, and he tripped and fell. He picked himself up, still crying, hand still muffling his sobs. He’d confessed to Baz, and Baz had rejected him. He probably deserved it, for being so mean to Baz all those years, and ordering around, and calling him Farm Boy.

Simon reached the farmhouse, wrenched the front door open, and closed it behind him. His knee stung from his fall. It was true that he’d fought with Baz a lot, but Baz had fought back. And it was Baz’s job to do what Simon told him to.

Simon wiped his cheeks and went to his room. So Baz didn’t love him back. So what? Who cared what a stupid farm boy thought? He couldn’t be very smart, if he thought that that dumb widow’s peak looked good. Ha, he’d be sorry in the morning!

Simon smiled, nodded to himself, brushed off his knees, made his bed, and burst into tears.

He was still in love with Baz, and it was all his own fault that Baz didn’t love him back, not even a little bit, not even enough to stay. He’d made Baz’s life horrible, and now Baz hated him, and he deserved that. The sun was peeking over the horizon, but to Simon, the world was dark.

("Maybe you should reread the Princess Bride," Cath said.

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of you interrupting the story," Wren said loudly.

"That is literally you hearing me-")

There was a knock on the door.

It startled Simon out of his self-pity. He wiped his eyes, because he'd be damned if he let Baz get to him, and opened the door.

It was Baz.

"Ba- Farm Boy!" Simon smiled, although it felt like a grimace. "I'm sorry for that scene before. What do you say we forget it ever happ-"

"I'm leaving," Baz said.

"Leaving?" Simon suddenly felt his knees begin to buckle. He leaned on the doorframe. "Now?"

"Yes."

"Because of what I said earlier?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"I'm going to America. To seek my fortune." (This was just after America, but long after fortunes, and a good long while after colonization. Everything is after colonization; colonization has existed ever since God promised Abraham Israel and kicked everyone else out.)

Simon nodded numbly. He'd ruined everything, and now Baz's last memory of him would be his humiliating confession. "Good luck. I'm sure you'll do well. You're a good worker and you know what you want, so I'm sure you'll be fi-ine." This last came out as a hiccup, and Simon blinked rapidly to hide his tears. "Goodbye."

Baz stared at him. "Are you kidding?"

"No! I really wish you all the luck in the world," Simon managed through a throat thick with tears.

Baz tugged at his hair, shaking his head and looking up and around as if he couldn't believe how dumb someone could be. "Could you stop pretending everything is okay? And, and stop being so nice? It's driving me _maaaaaaaad_."

Simon looked at him.

"Don't you understand?" Baz asked. "Don't you know why I've stayed so long in this farm, with those thankless beasts and your crazy father? Every day I spent here was for you. Every time I saw you, my heart tried to escape my chest. Every order you gave me, every insult, I took gladly, because it was you that gave them. I can't believe you didn't know. I didn't think anyone could be so oblivious. And _now_ you come out with it? Are you kidding me?"

"So you love me?" Simon asked.

Baz took a step closer. "Do I love you? I've been saying it so long to you, you just wouldn't listen. Every time you said 'Farm Boy do this' you thought I was answering 'As you wish', but what I really said was 'I love you'."

The darkness had faded for Simon, and the sun had risen. "I will love you until the day I die. Only you."

Baz nodded. "I'll send for you soon. We'll live in America together."

"Would my Baz ever lie?"

Baz took a step away. "I have to go. The ship leaves soon and London is very far away."

"I understand."

Baz reached out his hand; Simon took it in his. They shook.

"Goodbye," Simon said softly.

"Goodbye," Baz said. He turned away.

"Wait," Simon called, and Baz turned. "Without one kiss?"

It was as if Baz had been waiting for this moment. In a few quick strides, he reached Simon. One hand went to Simon's cheek, the other to the small of his back; Simon threw his arms around Baz's neck. Their lips met. Simon gasped, and Baz took the opportunity to slide his tongue into Simon's mouth. They clung to each other, Simon's hands winding in Baz's hair, his teeth tugging gently on Baz's lower lip.

Since the invention of the kiss, there have been only five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind.

 

("Pure, my ass," Cath said.

"If you don't stop interrupting, I'm going to make them bang against the door," Wren said. "In full daylight. _Outside_."

Cath mimed zipping her lips shut.)

 

Now that Baz had left the farm, Simon's father made another one of his bad judgement calls and decided that he and Simon could keep the farm running on their own. This meant that Simon did the work of two people. He had no time to mope, as much as he would have liked to lie around and sigh after Baz. It was hard, and often Simon fell to bed exhausted.

"Baz would have done it without complaining," he told himself, and so he worked hard.

Thinking of Baz like that, something he now did constantly, made Simon reevaluate a lot of things. Baz had bathed every day, and so Simon, who had gotten used to the layer of low-grade dirt that kept his stench from spreading too much, washed every night. Baz had kept his clothes in good repair, and so Simon mended his trousers and patched his shirt. Baz's hair had always been neat, and so Simon cut his hair, washed and brushed it. Moreover, since every second thought was of Baz, he smiled more. Every person who greeted him was treated to a long list of Baz's best qualities, which went on and on and on. His love made him glow.

You can imagine the result. Simon flew up the list of most beautiful men in the world. Cleaning himself up shot him up from fifty to forty. The haircut moved him to thirty nine; the very fact that he cared enough about himself to mend his clothes moved him to thirty eight. The work Simon did on the farm made him lose his baby cheeks and gain muscle. His cheekbones pushed him up from thirty eight to thirty six. Letters from Baz bounced him up the ranks; soon Simon was the twentieth most beautiful man in the world, and climbing. He was kind to everyone. His acne faded; his clumsiness disappeared. He was the fifteenth most beautiful man in the world; the twelfth; the ninth. His love for Baz shone out of every pore, and by his twentieth birthday, he was the eighth most beautiful man in the world, and the village loved him.

The message came one day when Simon was shearing the Crumblesnoots. He came back from the field, shirt covered in fine blue hairs, only to see a boy from the village running off. Simon waved, and the boy waved back.

Simon's father was waiting for him at the kitchen table.

"Did he want something?" Simon asked.

"Sit down," his father said.

Simon sat.

"It was the Dread Vampirate Tyrannus," Simon's father said.

"The one who leaves no survivors," Simon said. He was very calm; you would have thought the news didn't matter to him at all. He got up from the table. "Excuse me."

Simon stayed in his room for a very long time. When he finally came out, there were no traces of tears on his cheeks. His eyes held an immeasurable sadness, and his shoulders, though straight, carried a heavy weight.

His father, perhaps under the influence of such a long period of having to fend for himself, made him cocoa. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"Fine," Simon said. "But I must never love again."

He never did.

 

("Are you... crying?" Wren asked suspiciously.

Cath shook her head. "Vampirate," she squeaked, through another bout of coughing.

"Okay, weirdo," Wren said, grinning.)

 

One day, two riders came to the farm. One of them was astride a black horse, and all that could be seen beyond the deep shadows of his hood was a thick mustache. It was the Count, and he waited at the gate.

The other was a woman. She was sitting on a white horse, her long hair spilling across the shoulders of her gown. A small crown perched on her head.

She rode up to Simon. "I am your Princess," she said.

Simon bowed. "Your Highness."

"I order you to marry me," she said.

"I can't," Simon said.

"Why not?" the princess asked. "You'll be the richest man in the kingdom, and the most powerful. You'll wear fine clothes, live in a castle, and have servants to fulfill your every whim. You'll share my bed and people will name their babies after you, and to be honest, the punishment for refusing a royal proposal is death."

"Then kill me," Simon said.

The princess sighed. "Look, I'm really not that bad."

"It doesn't matter," Simon said. "Marriage involves love. I was in love once, and I am sworn never to love another."

"Oh, is that all?" the princess asked. "A royal marriage has nothing to do with love. People are uncomfortable with a woman along on the throne. I need a consort. You're known across this kingdom and a couple of others as the most beautiful man in the world; everyone you know thinks you can do no wrong. It's either this or a Frenchman, and marrying a commoner is good public relations. So you can either marry me, help me pop out an heir, and hand out matzo at Passover, or you can die a quick and brutal death. Again, not my style, but it's kind of the law."

Simon thought of his father, who had died a year ago in yet another spectacularly bad judgement call, and of Baz's ship, _The Queen's Pride_ , sinking beneath the waves, and made up his mind.

"I'll marry you," he told the princess. "But I won't love you."

She nodded. "I understand. I hope we'll get along anyways."

("Just say who the princess is already, everybody knows," Cath said.

"Patience, young padawan.”)

 

The princess's name was Agatha. She had spoken the truth. She did not expect love from Simon, and left him to his own devices often, as she was very busy. The old king had been ill for many years, and it was the princess who really ran the country. When they did spend time together, Simon found himself growing to like Agatha. Perhaps if Baz had not existed… but he had.

The people adored Simon. Not only was he beautiful, the beauty had a depth and character to it that the loss of his true love had given him. And although Princess Agatha warned against the dangers of madmen and socialists, he insisted on walking among them often. He asked them about their children and their old parents and how their new job was going, and they worshipped him for it, but it always wore him out. When he felt the need to escape the press of humanity in the city, Simon went riding in the forest behind the castle, where socialists did not go.

One day as he was riding, he spotted a group of three people. They seemed odd to him, and besides, no one was allowed in the royal forest besides the royal family. He approached them, reining in his horse, and inspected them more closely.

The man in front was American, perhaps, dressed in their odd blue trousers and shirts with no fastenings. To his right was a heavyset woman with wild curls. A sword hung by her side, and two scars ran from temple to chin on each side of her face. The third was a different creature altogether, huge and hairy with ears like a dog. It was humanoid and wore a dress in the Canus style, with a hole for its tail.

"Who are you and what are you doing in the royal forest?" Simon asked.

The man smiled. "We are but poor lost circus performers. Is there a village nearby?"

"There is nothing but forest for miles," Simon said.

"Then there will be no one to hear you scream," the American said. He leaped at Simon, aiming a precise blow to his temple, and Simon lost consciousness.

 

He woke to the lapping of water, and to the sound of voices.

"We should just kill him now," the dog creature said. "And drop him overboard. No trace, no scent."

"We were paid to leave him on the Guilder border," the American said. "When they find his corpse, they will think Guilder kidnapped him and killed him. If we just drop him overboard, we won't get the rest of the money. Get it?"

"I just feel better when I know what's going on, that's all," the dog-creature said. "People are always thinking I'm so stupid because I'm big and strong and sometimes drool a little when I get excited."

"No, they think you're stupid because you are," the American said.

"I don't like it," the woman said. "The people love him. There will be war."

"That's the whole point," the American said. "Imagine how many countries will pay for our services!"

"I wish you'd said no," the woman said.

"The offer was too high."

"At least let's not tell him we're going to kill him," the dog-creature said.

"He already knows. He's been listening this whole time," the American said.

"The princess-" Simon's voice was hoarse. He cleared it, tried again. "The princess will kill you."

"She won't catch us," the American replied. "This is the fastest boat in Florin. We'll reach the cliffs by dawn- would you stop that?" This to the woman. "What are you doing?"

"I'm checking to see no one is following us," the woman said. "You said this boat was the fastest in Florin?"

"I did."

"Then how is that boat following us?"

"Inconceivable," the American said. He peered into the gloom. There was a small sailing boat, black, with a single black sail, and a single man at the tiller, dressed in black.

"You know, there's a lot of symbolism behind black sails-" the woman began.

"Shut up!" the American said. "Let's see; there's no way anyone could be following us, therefore no one is following us. It's just a local fisherman on a pleasure cruise, at night, through eel infested waters."

Simon had been considering leaping from the boat and swimming to safety, but at this, he reconsidered.

("Aww," Cath said.

"I couldn't do it justice," Wren said.)

"That must be it," the woman said. "And I suppose it's also inconceivable that he's gaining on us?"

"Of course," the American said.

"It looks like he's gaining," the dog-creature said.

"No, he's just getting closer," the woman said, smirking.

The American whirled on them. "Oh! The brainiac has spoken! Remember when I found you? You were so buried in encyclopedias, you had spiders weaving webs on your nose! And you, Elspeth? Friendless, brainless, helpless, hopeless! Do you want me to send you back to the freak show? In _Greenland?_ "

("Encyclopedias?"

Wren nodded eagerly. "Penny's backstory was the most fun _ever_.")

"No, no," Elspeth mumbled. "You're right."

"We'll stop," the woman said.

The American took a deep breath, calming down. "Good. Ready the boat. We're close to the Cliffs of Insanity."

 

The Cliffs of Insanity were impossibly high, and impossibly steep. This was before cable cars, so most people, if for some reason they wanted to reach the top of the Cliffs of Insanity, took a long, winding road. No one could climb the Cliffs.

But climb them they did. The boat was sunk; Simon was tied to Elspeth, while the other two clung. The dog-creature took hold of a rope that hung from the top of the Cliffs, and began to climb.

About halfway up, the American said, "Faster, Elspeth."

"I thought I was going faster," the dog-creature said.

"You're doing wonderfully," the American assured her. "We're a little over halfway up."

"Good," the dog-creature said happily.

"And he's closing on the Cliffs," the American added.

The man in black was, indeed, nearing the rocky shore where they had come to shore.

Elspeth sped up.

"He's grabbed hold of the rope," the woman said. "He's climbing now."

"I can feel it," Elspeth said.

"Inconceivable!" The American looked down. The man in black was gaining on them. "You are the strongest person in the world, and yet this man gains?"

"Well, you might have skipped dinner," Elspeth muttered. But suddenly they were zooming past the cliff face, hand over hand, until they were at the top. The American cut the rope. It slithered off the cliff and fell into the waters below.

The dog-creature looked over the edge. "He's got good arms."

The American looked as well. The man was clinging to the cliffside by his hands. As they watched, slowly, he let go with one hand and found a hold higher up. "Inconceivable!"

"Stop saying that word!" the woman snapped. "I don't think it means what you think it means." She paused. "Actually, I know exactly what it means. Would you like the definition?"

"No, I would not like the definition," the American sneered. "You stay here. If he falls, good. If not, the sword. Elspeth and I will continue. Catch up with us when he is dead."

"Fine," the woman said. "But I'm using my left hand."

"You and your ambidextrous chivalry nonsense," the American said. "Have it your way. Come, Elspeth."

"Be careful," Elspeth said. "He wears a mask. If there's something I learned in the circus, it's that people in masks cannot be trusted."

"I'm waiting!" the American shouted.

The woman was left alone at the top of the cliff. She peered down at the man in black. He was moving very slowly, inching his way up the cliff.

"Hello there," she called. "Slow going?"

"Look, I don't mean to be rude, but this is not as easy as it looks, so I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't distract me," the man in black said.

"Sorry," the woman said. "I don't suppose you could speed things up a little?"

"If you're in such a hurry, you could lower a rope or a tree branch or find something useful to do," the man in black said tersely.

"I could do that, but I don't think you would accept my help, since I'm going to kill you when you reach the top."

"That does put a damper on our relationship," the man in black said.

The woman smiled. She liked this man's sense of humor. "I promise not to kill you until you reach the top."

"Sorry," the man in black said. "Still don't trust you."

"I could give you my word as an academic," the woman offered.

"No good. I've known too many academics."

"So there's no way you'll trust me," the woman said.

"Nothing comes to mind, no," the man in black replied.

Suddenly the woman leaned over the cliff edge. "I swear on the soul of my mother, Mitali Bunce, that you will reach the top alive!"

The man in black nodded. "Throw me the rope."

Quickly, the woman tossed the remainder of the rope still tied to a tree trunk down. It was just long enough to reach the man in black, who took hold of it and began climbing. Soon, he had reached the top, and sat panting. "Thank you," he said.

"Take your time," the woman said. "By the way, you don't happen to be a twisted soul-being created by an act of accidental magic, do you?"

"I'm afraid not," the man in black said. "Why do you ask?"

"A soul-being plagiarized my mother," the woman said. "It wanted her to find out whose soul it was a copy of, but when they presented the project it claimed the work for its own."

"O-kay," the man in black said slowly.

"It discredited my mother and lost her tenure. Naturally, I decided to take revenge," the woman continued. "I caught it before it left the university, but it attacked me with its sword." She ran her fingers down one scar.

"A sword," the man in black said flatly.

"Academics take plagiarism very seriously," the woman said. "I've been training with the sword my whole life."

"So how are you an academic, if you've spent your whole life studying the sword?" the man in black asked.

The woman looked faintly annoyed. "I've got a degree in poli-sci. I don't see why I should have to stay on one career path my entire life. When I find it, I'll say, "My name is Penelope Bunce! You plagiarized my mother! Prepare to die!" And then I'll kill it."

"Fair enough," the man in black said. He got to his feet and drew his sword. "Shall we fight?"

Penelope drew her own sword. With her left. "You seem a decent fellow," she said. "I hate to kill you."

"You seem a decent woman," the man in black replied. "I hate to die."

They fought.

Their swords clashed, flashing faster than the human eye could see. They moved across the cliff top, feet dancing. The man in black was good. Very good; Penelope found herself forced towards the cliff edge.

"You're good," she said. "Better than I am."

"Thank you," the man in black said. "But if I'm better than you are, why are you smiling?"

"Because I know something you don't know," Penelope said.

"And what is that?" the man in black asked.

Penelope tossed her sword in the air and caught it in her right. "I'm ambidextrous."

Now Penelope had the advantage. They made a circuit around the cliff top, and now it was the man in black who had his back to the cliff.

"You can't tell because I'm wearing a mask, but I'm smiling now," the man in black said.

"Why?" Penelope asked.

"Because," the man in black said, "although you're very, very good, I'm going to beat you."

And he did.

"Kill me quickly," Penelope said.

"I've had my fill of killing," the man in black said. He clubbed her on the head with the hilt of her sword, and she dropped like a stone. "Please understand I hold you in the highest respect. We need more women in academia."

He ran off down the path the American and Elspeth had taken.

 

("You skipped the mask bit!" Cath said.

"Get used to disappointment," Wren said, laughing when Cath smacked her arm.)

 

The man in black gave a shout when a huge rock crashed into the boulder next to his head. A little to the right, and his head would have been a red smear, which would have been a nasty setback.

"I could have killed you," Elspeth said, stepping out from her hiding place.

"That rock would have crushed my skull," the man in black agreed. "What now?"

"I propose a wrestling match," Elspeth said. "Sportsmanlike, fair."

"It's not exactly fair if you're three times my size," the man in black pointed out. "Besides, I thought you were this great dumb brute. What do you know of sportsmanship?"

"I used to go to dog shows," Elspeth said. "And that's stereotyping. I'll have you know my da won the obstacle route competition three years in a row, and him only a collie."

"My sincere congratulations," the man in black said. He put down his sword. "Now, I don't want you to go easy on me just because I'm little."

 

("Wren, Elspeth's not a dog! She's a person!" Cath glared at her sister, with the rage of a girl who had made "S.P.C.W" badges.

"She's a person, and this is an AU, so hush up and drink your cough syrup.")

 

The American was waiting for him. He'd set up a nice little picnic. Tablecloth, wine, goblets, apples, kidnapped prince.

"Sit down," the American ordered. He had a dagger to Simon's throat. Simon was still blindfolded, his wrists and ankles tied.

The man in black obeyed, sitting across from the American. He eyed the dagger, but said nothing.

"You've beaten my swordswoman," the American said. "You've beaten my _canus homo sapiens_."

"I have."

"And you want the prince." The American grinned and pressed the dagger a little closer to Simon's throat, making a drop of blood appear on the golden skin.

"Perhaps an arrangement could be made?" the man in black suggested.

"I don't think so. You're trying to kidnap what I have rightfully stolen, which is just rude. No honor among thieves."

"Then we are at an impasse."

"I'm afraid so. I'm no match for you physically, and you're no match for my brains."

There was a glint in the man in black's eyes, behind the mask. "You're that smart?"

"Let me put it this way. Have you heard of Edison, Franklin, Bell?"

"Yes."

"Morons."

"Then I propose a battle to the wits," the man in black said.

"As I knew you would," the American said. "What do you suggest?"

The man in black withdrew a small vial from his belt. "This is iocane powder, the deadliest poison in the world. It is odorless, colorless, and flavorless, and it kills within seconds."

"I've heard of iocane powder," the American said irritably.

"Pour the wine," the man in black said.

The American set down his dagger and uncorked the wine bottle, pouring a measure of wine into each cup.

"Nice wine service," the man in black remarked, as he picked up both goblets and turned away from the American. "Silver?"

"Alas, times are hard. It's pewter," the American said. "Don't think I don't know what you're trying to do; befriending the enemy is a child's trick."

"You're obviously very clever," the man in black said. He set down the goblets so that each of them had one in front of him. "One of these cups has iocane powder in it, and the other does not. Choose, and we shall both drink."

"I see," the American said. He stared at the goblets, eyes narrowed. "It's very simple. I already know which goblet to choose."

"Then choose," the man in black said.

"Don't you want to hear my reasoning?" the American asked.

The man in black shook his head. "Not particularly."

"Ah," the American said. It was a very knowing sound. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and he pointed in front of him. "What's that?"

The man in black turned. "I don't see anything," he said.

"I could have sworn I saw something," the American said. "Never mind; let us drink." He took the goblet before him. They both drank.

"You chose wrong," the man in black said.

The American grinned. "You only think I did. I switched the cups! You fell for the oldest trick in the book!" He started giggling. "You see, a clever man would put the poison into his own goblet, because he would know-" His face turned red, and he keeled over.

The man in black gave his own chest a good thump. For a moment, he looked as if he was going to throw up, and then he burped, covering his mouth with one hand. Then he removed the blindfold from Simon's eyes.

"So the poison was in your cup the whole time," he said.

"The poison was in both cups. I'm a vampire," the man in black said. He cut Simon's bonds and yanked him to his feet. "Come," he said, and they ran.

After a while, Simon's night of being kidnapping, being tied up, and mortal peril caught up to him, and they had to stop to rest, the man in black pushing Simon onto a boulder. "Please," Simon said. "Release me, and I will speak with the Princess. Whatever you wish for, it will be yours, I promise you."

The man in black laughed, cold and cruel. "What is your promise worth, Your Highness? I want nothing from you, and nothing from your beloved."

"I never said she was my beloved, but she will keep her word," Simon says.

"You admit that you do not love your fiancé?"

"She knows that I don't."

"Knows that you are not capable of love, you mean."

Simon snarled at him. "I have loved more deeply than a killer like you could ever dream."

The man in black grabbed his arm, pulling him roughly to his feet. "If you can speak, you are rested."

They ran on. Simon tripped over rocks in the path, the moonlight playing tricks on his eyes and his legs stiff and burning. The path they were taking ran along the side of a deep ravine, and here and there parts of it had crumbled. Simon fell, again and again, until the man in black tired of pulling him upright and let go of his wrist.

"Rest, highness," he said. "We have a long way ahead of us."

Simon rubbed his wrist where the man in black had held him, and scowled. "I know who you are. You're the Dread Vampirate Tyrannus, admit it!"

The man in black bowed, mockery in his sharp smile. "How may I serve you, Your Highness?"

"You can die slowly, cut into a thousand pieces," Simon hissed. "Murderer. You killed my love."

The man in black shrugged. "I kill a lot of people. Was your love another piece of royal flim-flam like this one, doing nothing for their people?"

"No. He was poor. Poor and it killed him. With eyes like storm clouds before it rains." Simon took a deep, ragged breath. "Your ship attacked his. _The Queen's Pride_. And the Dread Vampirate Tyrannus takes no prisoners."

The man in black shrugged. "I can’t afford to make exceptions. Once word leaks out that you've gone soft, you lose people's respect, and then it's all work, work, work all day." He turned away from Simon, looking out to the sea. It was alight with ships' lanterns, each flying the flag of Florin's Armada.

"You mock my pain," Simon said, voice low.

"Life is pain," the man in black said.

("Anyone who says differently is selling something," Cath and Wren chorused.)

"Tell me, Highness, how long was it before you took up with another? Did you get engaged to the princess that same day, or did you wait a week out of respect for the dead?"

"How dare you," Simon said. " _I died that day_." He crept up behind the man in black. Perhaps the iocane powder had had more of an effect that he'd thought; perhaps he was distracted by the ships. Whatever the reason, the man in black did not turn around.

"And you can die too, for all I care," Simon said viciously, and pushed the man in black into the ravine.

For a moment he teetered, and then the man in black fell, rolling head over heels down the dark crevice. "As...you...wish..."

Simon stared after him, hands over his mouth and eyes wide. "The fuck," he said, and then he, too, was tumbling down the ravine.

("I can skip over the reunion scene, if you like," Wren said.

"What reunion scene?" Cath asked.

"You know, when they're together after all those years, and they're relieved and there's all this adrenaline..."

"You're incorrigible," Cath said. She blew her nose. "Okay, shoot.")

Baz was waiting for him when he reached the bottom, already on his feet despite the hard earth and sharp rocks Simon had just felt on his own body. The mask had torn during the fall, and Baz ripped it off, revealing a long nose and sharp cheekbones.

"Baz," Simon gasped, but he couldn't get any air.

"Shhh," Baz said, kneeling beside Simon and helping him sit up. "Take a moment to get your breath-"

"How could you say such a thing," Simon asked, "when you're alive?"

"That's what enables me to speak, I believe," Baz said, but he drew Simon to him.

"This isn't real," Simon mumbled against Baz's shoulder. "I'll wake up any second now, and you'll be dead again."

"Simon," Baz said, laughing. He pulled back, taking Simon's face in his hands. "Look, I'm here."

"I thought you were dead," Simon said. He touched Baz's face with trembling fingers, tracing across his forehead and down his cheek. "I've had this dream before, you know."

"Does it always include kidnapping?" Baz asked.

"Not _always_ ," Simon said, blushing at Baz's soft laughter.

"Does it include this?" Baz asked, leaning forward to capture Simon's mouth with his own.

When they broke apart, Simon answered, a little breathlessly, "Yes, it does. We'd kissed before you left. I knew how it was."

"You never did have much of an imagination," Baz said. "You didn't dream of us doing anything else?"

"No," Simon said. "I didn't have anything to base it off of."

"You mean, you never...?"

"A moment ago you were going to kill me for being unfaithful," Simon pointed out, "and now you ask if I ever slept with anyone?"

"You have a point," Baz said, nodding seriously, grinning like a loon. "I'll make it up to you."

"That's fair," Simon began, before his mouth was otherwise occupied. His hands went to Baz's hair, and he went pliant when Baz licked into his mouth. Simon, if not experienced, was at least very willing to learn. When Baz broke away to kiss Simon's jaw, he was panting.

"Are you sure you haven't practised?" he asked Simon.

Simon huffed. It came out as more as a shaky sigh. "No, Baz, you're right. How could I forget? I snogged my pillow in anticipation of this exact moment."

"Ooh, anticipation," Baz teased, scraping his teeth against Simon's collarbone. "Any other big words you want to get out? You won't be able to say much later."

"How about asshole?" Simon managed. Baz had rucked up his tunic and his shirt and was stroking Simon's sides, his mouth on Simon's jaw again.

"Next time," Baz promised. He stroked Simon's stomach, just above the line of his trousers. "May I?"

"Yes," Simon said, more of a breath than a word.

It was impossible to lie down in the ravine comfortably, so they didn't try. Simon sat in Baz's lap, his fingers digging into Baz's shoulders. Baz undid the lacing of Simon's trousers and put one hand on Simon's back, holding him close.

"Ready?" he asked. Simon nodded, and Baz took him in hand, all of Simon's breath escaping in a rush.

"Wait," he said, and Baz froze.

"No, I mean-" Simon placed his hand on Baz's crotch. "May I?"

"Definitely," Baz said. "God, you scared me." He undid his own trousers as quickly as he could. "Do you know what to- _oh_."

"I'm sure I'll figure it out," Simon said, mischief in his eyes as he stroked Baz.

The mischief faded when Baz returned the favor. Simon's head thunked against Baz's shoulder, and his breath become shallow.

Neither of them lasted very long. It had been too long since that one kiss for both of them, and although Baz, thinking himself betrayed, had shared a bed with others, Simon's voice moaning in his ear sped up the process considerably.

When they had both spent themselves, Baz cleaned them off with the mask, which he then cast away from them. Simon smiled softly into Baz's shoulder. He had spent the last year or so sleeping on featherbeds with silk sheets; sitting in Baz's lap, in that ravine, he was more comfortable than he had been in years.

"Simon, we have to get up," Baz said. "As pleasant as this is, we've already wasted time, and we have to reach the _Pitch_ before dawn."

"The _Pitch_? That's the Dread Vampirate Tyrannus's ship," Simon protested. He got to his feet, doing up his trousers. "I don't understand."

"I'll explain everything," Baz said. He offered Simon his hand. "We need to hurry, though. Now that we're in this ravine, we're stuck, and the journey through the Fire Swamp will delay us considerably."

"The Fire Swamp?" Simon took Baz's hand. "We'll die in there!"

"Please," Baz said. "Will you do it for me?"

"For you, I could fly," Simon said.

 

("Is Baz's dick going to keep flapping around, or are you going to make him do up his pants?" Cath asked.

"Wow, you really are sick, huh?" Wren felt her sister's forehead. "I'll bring you a Tylenol.")

 

"You know," Baz said, as Simon beat out a flame on his tunic, "it's not so bad here."

"The trees are nice," Simon conceded. "Baz..."

"Yes?"

"Are you truly Tyrannus? It doesn't seem possible, when he's been terrorizing the seas for twenty years, and you've only been away for five."

"I'll tell you. My ship really was captured by the Dread Vampirate Tyrannus. He killed the crew and passengers off one by one. Some of them tried to bribe him, but I had nothing to offer him. When he reached me I only said "please". This made Tyrannus pause. I asked him not to kill me, and he asked what I had to live for. "True love," I said. I described you, and offered to be his valet. If he wasn't pleased with my work, I said, he could kill me."

"But he didn't," Simon said.

"No," Baz agreed, "he didn't. For three years, he'd say to me, every night, "Good night, Baz. Good work. Sleep well. I'll most likely kill you in the morning." I learned to fence, fight, anything anyone would teach me. Tyrannus and I became friends. And then one day, he took me to his cabin, and told me his secret."

"What-" Simon began. They jumped away from a spurt of flame. "What secret?"

"He told me that he was not truly the Dread Vampirate Tyrannus. His name was Niall, and he'd inherited the ship from the previous Dread Vampirate Tyrannus, whose true name was Dev. The real Tyrannus had retired fifteen years earlier to Iceland. None of them were real vampires, either, except for the original Tyrannus. They wore false teeth. The important thing was the myth behind the name."

"But you are a real vampire," Simon said.

Baz nodded. "Training accident. Anyways, Niall wanted to retire, so we sailed ashore, took on an entirely new crew, and he stayed aboard for a while as first mate, all the time calling me Tyrannus. Once the crew believed, he left the ship, and I have been Tyrannus ever since."

"It's all clear now." Simon said. "Oh, Baz, I'm so glad we found each other again."

That was when an R.O.U.S. jumped out at them.

Baz bared his teeth at one and swatted it on the nose with the flat of his sword. It ran off, squealing.

"They're nothing on those Bandyleg Crumblesnoots," he told Simon, who looked a little starstruck. "What happened to those, by the way?"

"Exploded," Simon said.

"Thank God," Baz said fervently. "Look, we've reached the end of the Swamp. Soon we'll be safe."

The Princess and the Count were waiting for them, along with half a dozen men with crossbows.

"Are you alright?" Agatha asked Simon. She noticed his hand in Baz's, and her face fell a little. "Never mind."

"Surrender!" the Count thundered.

"Never," Baz said, pulling Simon closer to him.

"Oh, let them go," Agatha said, to everyone's surprise. "They're in love. That's rare enough."

"Your Highness, reconsider," the Count said. "The people will talk. You will lose their respect."

Agatha sighed. "I suppose," she said reluctantly.

"Agatha, please," Simon said.

"Do you know how hard it is to get respect as a woman in a position of power?" Agatha asked. "It's for the good of the kingdom."

"Kill me, then," Baz said, stepping forward. "Leave Simon alone. He did nothing."

"The punishment for kidnapping a royal prince is death by silver crossbow bolt," the Count said. His eyes, in the depth of his hood, gleamed.

"Will you promise not to hurt him?" Simon whispered.

"What?" Agatha asked.

Simon moved in front of Baz. "If I go with you, will you promise not to hurt him?"

Agatha looked at him. "Yes," she said finally. "I promise."

"He's a simple sailor on the pirate ship _Pitch_. I've known him all my life."

"My soldiers will escort him back to his ship, and no harm will befall him," Agatha said.

"Simon." Baz caught Simon's hand. "Don't do this."

Simon shook his head, tears in his eyes. "I thought you were dead once, and it nearly killed me. I couldn't bear for you to die." He kissed Baz softly. "I love you." And then, without another glance, he mounted the horse behind Agatha, and rode away.

Baz looked up at the Count. His vampire eyes could see into the deep shadow of the Count's hood. "You're a twisted soul-being created by a- oh, forget it. Someone's looking for you."

The Count clubbed him over the head.

 

("Are you awake?" Wren whispered.

"Yeb," Cath said, sniffling. "Keeb going.")

 

Baz woke in a large, dark room. He was chained to a table, and a man in a wheelchair was spooning gruel into his mouth with the air of somebody who knows that they don't have anything else to, but still wants to hurry up and get this done already.

"Where am I?" he asked.

The man in the wheelchair set down the bowl. "The Pit of Despair," he said. "It's where the Count spends his time. Don't try to escape. The chains are strong enough to hold even a vampire down."

"You work for him?" Baz asked.

The man rolled his eyes. "I'm a prisoner," he said. "Do I look like the kind of person who subjects others to immense pain for my own pleasure?"

"Noooo," Baz said slowly.

"Why do I even try," the man muttered. "Never mind. Try to sleep. You'll need all your strength for the Machine."

 

("Why not something from canon?" Cath asked. "Like the Crusher of Doom, or the Dragon Stretcher?"

"Because the Machine is awesome," Wren said. "It takes years off your _life_. Beat that.")

 

A month later, Simon knocked on the door to Agatha's study.

"Come in," Agatha called.

Simon entered, closing the door behind him. He was haggard, his hair in disarray and his skin dull. There were deep circles under his eyes.

"What's the matter?" Agatha asked. Since the Fire Swamp, he looked sad and tired, but this was the worst she had ever seen him.

"I made a mistake," Simon said. "I'm sorry, Agatha, but it's true. I shouldn't have let Baz go. I would rather die with Baz than live without him. I thought I could live without love, but I can't. I can't marry you."

Agatha blinked at him. Finally, she said, "All right."

"Really?" Simon asked.

"Truly. I'll send out messenger ships to search the seas." Agatha hesitated. "Are you sure he'll come?"

"Baz will always come for me," Simon said firmly.

"And if he doesn't? You left him behind," Agatha said.

"He will. But if he doesn't... I'll marry you."

Agatha looked shocked. "You will?"

"I did say I would. And I think you can do a lot of good for the kingdom." Simon kissed her on the cheek and left the study.

Agatha pulled the bell pull by her desk. "Get the Count," she told the maid that showed up.

"Yes, Your Highness," the maid said, curtseying. Agatha smiled at her absently. She had a lot to think about.

When the Count came, Agatha said, "Good. I need you to-"

"If I may make a suggestion first, Your Highness?"

"Go ahead."

"The prince's life may be in danger. I have heard rumors of an assassination plan."

Agatha paled. "I haven't heard a thing."

"I have my own sources," the Count said smoothly. "I think a Brute Squad is in order, to clean out the Thieves' Quarter in the city and make sure no harm comes to either of you."

"Yes, fine. Now, listen. Send out the fastest ships in the Armada." Agatha handed the Count a letter in her own hand. "Have each of them carry a copy of this message. It contains a pardon for piracy and a request for Baz to come for Prince Simon."

"Your Highness," the Count began.

"I know, respect, obligation, et cetera, but I'll be damned if I cause that boy any more suffering."

"Perhaps-"

"Do it," Agatha said shortly.

"It will be done," the Count said.

 

(Cath's phone mooed.

"I still think that's weird," Wren said.

"Levi says he's coming over when his shift ends," Cath said.

"He's so sweet, visiting you when you're all gross and snotty," Wren teased.

Cath's eyes widened in panic.

"Chill, Cath, you're fine.")

 

Baz lay on the table. He wasn't chained. There was no need for chains. He couldn't move for the pain and suffering. Tears slid down his face.

"Today was a bad session," Rhys said. "Are you sure you don't want me to kill you? It won't be the first time someone died after a go with the Machine."

"No," Baz said, and his voice was nearly gone…

 

It was the day of the wedding.

The prince and the princess were each making their own preparations for the wedding. The people were dancing in the streets. And the Brute Squad was cleaning up the last of the inhabitants in the Thieves' Quarter...

 

"Miss, come out," cajoled a Brute. He was a big, brawny fellow, almost as big as the Brute manning the hurry-up wagon, but nevertheless he found himself lost before the little hut of books in the corner of an alley.

"Go away," came a voice from inside. "It's still library hours."

"Completely mad," the Brute said to his companion. "Watch this." He picked out one of the books, opened it, and dog-eared a page.

The hut erupted. A woman, squinting at the light, brandished a sword at the Brute. "How dare you! I bet you leave your books open face-down, too, like some kind of savage-"

"Penny?" The hurry-up wagon Brute approached.

The woman squinted, hand shading her eyes. "Elspeth?"

"It is you!" Elspeth punched the Brute, who dropped like a stone. "I looked for you everywhere."

"I've been waiting for Micah," Penny said.

"He's dead," Elspeth said. "And the creature that plagiarized your mother is here, in the castle. It's called the Count."

"The castle... how many guards?"

"At least thirty."

"No good." Penny shut her eyes. "This is all very overwhelming. Elspeth, we need Micah. He was good at planning. Practical. I'm an academic, and you're..."

"I'm not much of a thinker," Elspeth said.

Penny opened her eyes, snapping her fingers. "We don't need Micah! We need the man in black! He outfought me, he bested you, and he must have out-planned Micah."

"He is a sailor on the _Pitch_ , under the Dread Vampirate Tyrannus."

"Such a man, a simple sailor? Inconceivable!" Penny said. "He must be Tyrannus. Come, let's find him."

"But we don't know where he is," Elspeth said, trotting after Penny as she strode off.

"Details. My mother's spirit will be avenged tonight!"

"Your mum's alive. We saw her on your birthday."

" _Details_ , Elspeth."

 

At the castle...

Agatha looked up from her desk at the commander of the Armada. The commander, a man of military prowess and the veteran of both wars and committees, nevertheless sweated under the gaze of the princess in her lacy white wedding dress.

"This is a very busy day, commander," Agatha said. "You understand. Foreign dignitaries, local merchants, distant relatives... I have a lot of people to see. And, of course, I'm getting married, which doesn't happen often, so I really would rather not have this conversation, and yet here you are." She tapped a report. "This tells me that contrary to my explicit order, you have _not_ sent out messenger ships to find the _Pitch_."

"Your Highness, I have received no such order."

"You did. From the Count."

The commander shook his head. "Your Highness, I swear on my life, I have received nothing from the Count."

Agatha narrowed her eyes. "Really." She rang for the maid. "Dismissed."

"Yes, Your Highness. Thank you, Your Highness," the commander said, and hurried out as a maid entered.

"Have the Count come here," Agatha said. "Now."

The Count had barely stuck his head in through the door when Agatha said, "You never sent out my order."

"Which order, Princess? I assure you, all orders you give me are carried out-"

"The _ships_ ," Agatha said. "Yes. You remember."

"It's better this way, Your Highness," the Count said.

Agatha smiled. "Is it? After the wedding, you will be stripped of your title. I am not cruel; you may keep your life."

"How dare you!" the Count cried.

"The penalty for directly disobeying the Crown Princess's order is death. You should be grateful. Now, leave."

Agatha expected the Count to shout, but he merely slammed the door behind him. She waited until she could no longer hear his steps before she unclenched her hands. There were deep crescents marking her palms.

 

("Go Agatha," Cath said.)

 

The Count stormed through the castle. He reached the secret entrance to the Pit of Despair, ran down the ramp, and threw himself across the room to where Baz lay.

"You!' he roared.”I've had the Princess under my thumb for years! And now, because of your precious little pretty boy, she disobeys me! You will suffer for this-" And he switched on the Machine, pushing the lever to the highest setting.

The scream Baz emitted seemed to last forever, and when it ended, the Count felt a lot better. He turned away from Baz's corpse. Rhys was in the doorway, looking as if he was going to throw up.

"Get rid of this," the Count said.

 

In the city...

"Listen!" Penny held up her hand as the scream echoed through the city. It was horrible. Babies cried, dogs howled, and children hid and called for their mothers. "That's the sound of ultimate suffering! My heart made that sound when my mother lost her tenure! It must be the man in black! Who else would make that sound on this day of celebration?"

"You take your mum's tenure way too seriously," Elspeth said, but she ran towards the source of the scream, Penny hot on her heels.

They reached the secret entrance.

"There's only trees here," Elspeth said.

"Actually, there's a secret entrance in that elm, you just need to press the knot sticking out of the trunk," said a man in a wheelchair. He was dragging some kind of wire cart behind him. "But you're too late-"

Penny and Elspeth had already disappeared into the tree. Rhys unhooked the cart from his wheelchair and left the clearing. If he hurried, he could catch the coach to Paris.

The man in black was waiting for them patiently. It was the kind of patience you found in a graveyard. This made sense, as he was dead. They checked, just to make sure. No heartbeat, cold skin, and he wasn't breathing.

"He's dead," Elspeth said. She glanced at Penny, who had been known to take failure badly.

"I refuse to accept defeat," Penny said. "Bring the body."

Elspeth picked up the man in black's stiff form easily. "Why?"

"How much money have you got?" Penny asked.

"Not much. The Brute Squad doesn't even have health insurance, you know."

"I hope it's enough to buy a-" Penny made a little choking sound. "Miracle."

 

(The door opened. Cath craned her neck to see who it was.

"Just me," Reagan said, dumping her bag on her bed.

"Hi, Raegan," Wren said.

Raegan squinted at her. "Cath, why are there two of you?"

"You know that still isn't funny," Cath said.

"Uh huh, sure." Raegan changed her sneakers for boots. "Aaand I'm out. Try not to sneeze on any of my stuff while I'm gone.")

 

The little hut was in the middle of a forest clearing, and it looked like a mix between a wicked ol' witch's cottage and an old lady's house, the kind with lace curtains and a rocking chair. There were garden gnomes, but they grew out of the ground and were making worrying gestures. Also, it smelled funny.

"This is nice," Elspeth said, letting the man in black's toes clip a gnome, which did a quarter-circle turn to get out of the way.

"I worry about you sometimes," Penny said. She knocked on the door to the hut.

A peephole opened in the door. "Go away," said the woman who opened it.

"Are you the Miracle Lucinda who worked for the King all those years?" Penny asked.

"I got fired, didn't you hear? And thanks so much for bringing up such a painful subject. While you're at it, why not give me a nice paper cut and pour lemon on it?" The peephole closed.

Penny banged on the door again.

"Beat it, or I'll call the Brute Squad!" came from inside.

"I'm on the Brute Squad," Elspeth said.

"We need a miracle. It's very important," Penny said.

"Look, I'm retired. And besides, why would you want someone the King's stinking daughter fired? I might kill whoever it is."

"He's already dead," Elspeth said.

There was a rattling of bolts from inside, and the door opened. "He is, huh?" Lucinda said, peering at the man in black's corpse. "Bring him in, I'll take a look. No promises, mind."

They entered the hut. It was similar to the outside, except with less gnomes and more antimacassars. Elspeth set the man in black on what seemed to be a cross between an operating table and a coffee table.

"Careful, careful," Lucinda said, snatching a doily out of the way. She frowned at the man in black, going over him from head to toe, prodding and pinching all the while. "I've seen worse," she said, lifting one arm and letting it drop back to the table with a thud.

"Please," Penny said. "We're in a bit of a hurry."

"You hurry a miracle woman, you get rotten miracles," Lucinda said, inspecting the man in black's gums.

Penny coughed, although it sounded more like "ahem alternative medicine ahem".

Lucinda scowled at her. "You got money?"

Elspeth and Penny dug into their pockets, conferring between them. "Sixty five," Penny said.

"I've never worked for so little in my life," Lucinda said, giving a little sniff. "Except for once, and that was a very noble cause. Kittens were involved."

Penny ignored this last bit. "This is a noble cause," she said. "His, uh, his wife is crippled. His children are starving."

"If you're going to lie, at least do it properly," Lucinda said.

"He's going to help me avenge my mother," Penny said desperately.

Lucinda gave her a good long squint. "Here, aren't you Mitali's girl? I saw her last month, she was fine."

"She means get her mum's tenure back," Elspeth said, taking pity on Penny, who was making indignant noises.

"I liked the first story better," Lucinda said. "If she were such a good girl, she'd go see her mother more. This poor soul probably stole her library card or something."

"He did not!" Penny cried.

"Excuse me if I don't believe you," Lucinda said primly.

"Who are you going to believe, then?" Elspeth asked.

"Him."

"He's dead," Penny said, calmer now that she saw the old woman was mad. "He can't talk."

"Look who knows so much," Lucinda said. "As every miracle man or woman knows, there's more than one kind of dead. There's sort of dead, mostly dead, and all dead. It just so happens that your friend here is none of the above."

"So what is he?" Elspeth asked.

"Undead," Lucinda said. "Don't look at me like that. You can tell by the fangs." She whipped out a pin and pricked her finger, dripping a few drops of blood into the man in black's mouth. Then she put her mouth by his ear. "What's so important? What do you have that's worth staying alive for?"

The man in black's lips moved, so slowly that it seemed as if they didn't. "Tr...ooo... luv..."

"You see? You hear that?" Penny cried. "True love! What's more noble than that!"

"Oh, don't you start on me, girlie. True love's wonderful, it's the best thing in the world, except for cough drops. But he didn't say true love. He said 'true blood', and that's because he's a vampire."

"Meow."

Lucinda looked down. "Oh, don't you start."

"Meow meow meow." A brown and white cat jumped up on the table. It was the biggest house-cat either Elspeth or Penny had seen, and it looked at Lucinda reproachfully.

"Why'd you say that? You promised never to mention her name ever again!"

"Meow meow meow meow meow!"

"I can't hear you!" Lucinda stuck her fingers in her ears.

"Do something," Penny said to Elspeth, over the cat's continuing diatribe.

"Meow meow!"

"I'm more of a dog person," Elspeth said nervously. "You try."

"This is Simon's true love," Penny said loudly. The cat fell silent. "If you heal him, he'll stop Princess Agatha's wedding."

Lucinda took her fingers out of her ears. "Well, why didn't you say so in the first place? Give me a couple of hours and I'll have the cure ready. Get off the table, Sophocles."

Elspeth and Penny watched Lucinda bustle around the room, muttering to herself, and settled themselves down for a long wait. After a few minutes, the cat came to sit in Penny's lap.

"Can you really talk?" Elspeth asked it.

"Meow."

"Is the Princess really that bad?" Penny asked it. "The people kind of like her."

The cat gave her a very knowing look. "Meow."

"I see."

 

("Sophocles?" Cath asked.

"What, you wanted Moliere?")

 

There was, Agatha found, no time on the day of a royal wedding. She knew that a Princess was supposed to be obeyed, but every order she tried to give was swallowed by the hustle and bustle of the preparations. Besides of which, she still had a kingdom to run. Every time she managed to get a moment without some third cousin twice removed wishing her well, or some official something-or-other wanting her to sign something, she was told that she was on no account to see her groom on her wedding day, and no amount of firm insistence would change anyone's minds.

'I'm sorry, but your beloved doesn't know you want him back, and actually I'm not sure he actually got back to his ship' wasn't the kind of thing you could say to someone in a message. So Agatha cursed herself for a coward and a fool, and let a waiting lady pin a veil over her hair.

 

("That's not in the movie," Cath said. "Or the book."

"Shut up and enjoy the redemption," Wren said.)

 

"That's a miracle pill?" Penny asked. It was about the size of a golf ball, and lumpy.

"The chocolate makes it go down easier, and the mint is to counteract the thirst for blood he's going to wake up with," Lucinda said. "He shouldn't go swimming for at least an hour." She frowned, as if trying to remember something, and then shook her head. "Have fun storming the castle."

"Thank you," Elspeth said, leaving the money on the table and slinging the man in black under one arm.

They found a quiet corner on the castle wall. Elspeth maneuvered the man in black's body into a sitting position, more or less.

"How is he going to swallow this?" Penny held up the pill. "It's huge."

"You never know," Elspeth said. "He might not have much of a gag reflex."

Penny glared at her.

"What?" Elspeth asked.

"Never you mind." Penny put the pill in the man in black's mouth, avoiding the fangs. "How long do you think it'll take to work?"

"I don't know."

"I beat you both apart. I can take you together," the man in black said.

Penny grinned and punched the air. "Yes! It worked! How do you feel?"

"I can't move my arms."

"You've been dead," Elspeth said.

"We had to get you a miracle pill," Penny said

The man in black groaned. "I hate it when that happens." He tapped a finger against the stone of the castle wall.

"You just moved your finger!" Elspeth said excitedly.

"Vampirism, you know, it makes for quick healing. My name is Baz, by the way."

"You already know me, and this is Elspeth," Penny said. "Now we need you to help us break into the castle and stop the wedding, which begins in half an hour, so that I can kill the Count, after which we will escape with the prince and flee the country."

"Hmm. What are our liabilities?"

"Your brains, my steel, Elspeth's strength," Penny said.

Baz lifted his head and let it thunk against the wall. "We're doomed."

"You can move your head," Elspeth said. "Doesn't that cheer you up a little?"

"Not nearly enough," Baz said. "If only we had a cart or something..."

"There's one next to the Pit of Despair, if the guy in the wheelchair hasn't gone back for it," Penny said.

"And I don't suppose you have a Holocaust Cloak?" Baz asked, in the voice of one who sees light at the end of a tunnel and has had far too much experience with trains to feel hopeful about it.

"Lucinda's cat said I could have their old one," Elspeth said, taking it out of her jacket.

"Excellent." Baz got up, verrrrry slowly. "I wish I had a little time to recuperate. You wouldn't have a spare sword, by any chance?"

"We'll get one off the guards," Penny said confidently. "I don't think you can lift one, though."

"No, but no one has to know that. Come, we should hurry. There may be problems once we're inside."

"I'll say," Penny began, but Elspeth shushed her.

"He's had a very rough day, Pen, try not to upset him any further."

"Right. Right," Penny said.

 

("Miracle Aero pill?"

"Those things taste like medicine anyways," Wren said.

“You take that back!”)

 

Agatha finally managed to talk to Simon as they were standing at the front of the chapel.

"I have to tell you something," she whispered, as the deaf old clergyman lisped through the elaborate ceremony.

"What is it?" Simon whispered back. He looked wan, but determined, a man willing to keep his promises even with a broken heart.

"I only found out today, so please don't be mad at me," Agatha said. "But the message to Baz never went out."

"What?" Simon said, loud enough for it to reach the pews. The guests tittered.

Agatha smiled at them. "Please excuse my fiancé. Nerves, you know." To Simon, she hissed, "Keep your voice down! It was the Count. He's been using me to get power for himself the whole time."

Simon looked over his shoulder. "But he's still here!"

"Do you realize how much power he has?" Agatha whispered. "I'm not even entirely sure he's human. He could turn the people against me, and you'd be mincemeat. I have to be clever about this."

Simon opened his mouth to reply. A scream tore through the chapel. The clergyman took no note, but the guests muttered among themselves. The Count snuck out quietly.

Agatha beckoned the head of security. "Find out what that is," she told him.

"The Dread Vampirate Tyrannus leaves no survivors!" echoed from the courtyard.

"It's Baz!" Simon said. Color filled his cheeks, and his eyes sparkled.

"Never mind, it's just a prank. Probably the city children," Agatha told the head of security. The man nodded and melted back into the crowd.

"Please, Agatha." Simon looked at her pleadingly. "I can't marry you, I can't. Baz is here for me."

"I understand," Agatha said. "Follow my lead." She turned to the clergyman. "Your Holiness, I'm afraid the ceremony will have to be cut short. There is terrible danger."

"Mawage," the clergyman said, "is a dweam wiffin a dweam."

"Quite right, Your Holiness, but this ceremony is, frankly, outdated. Is it not time for us to embrace the future even as we cherish the past? Perhaps a modification? On the go, as it were."

"The dweam of wuv wiffin the dweam of evewlasting west," the clergyman said.

Agatha leaned forward. "I'm considering separation of church and state."

"You can't be sewious-"

"Man and wife," Agatha said, smiling sweetly. "Say it."

"But you haven't said youw vows-"

"You know, heteronormativity is overrated," Agatha said.

"Man and wife!" the clergyman said. "And don't blame me if he goes awound kissing othew women."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," Agatha said. She swept around to face the guests, part of which had fallen asleep. "There seems to be a crisis," she said. The faces of the guests radiated confusion. They had expected the ceremony to last at least another thirty minutes. "Of course, the wedding feast will still take place." The wedding guests' faces broke out into smiles. "So, if you would all proceed towards the banquet hall...?"

"You made a scene," Simon said wonderingly, under cover of the stampede.

"No one heard," Agatha said. She didn't sound very convinced. "Although I might have to create some kind of branch of the government to officiate marriages."

 

("I'm confused," Cath said. "Didn't Agatha mention matzo before?"

"This was before individual religions, but after Passover?" Wren tried.

"No.")

 

Outside, Elspeth was putting out little smoldering patches of fur. "That Cloak wasn't very good," she said.

"Probably got it at a rummage sale," Penny said. "Where do you think the keys to the gate are?"

"Here," said Rhys. He handed her the keys.

"Hullo," Baz said. "I see you've escaped."

"I was going to seek my fortune, but I missed the coach. If anyone asks, I gave those to you under extreme duress," Rhys said, and left them to it.

"What an odd man," Baz said to himself.

Inside the castle, Agatha and Simon found their path blocked by a group of guards.

"I'm sorry, Your Highnesses," said their sergeant. "Count's orders."

Agatha's eyes narrowed. "Oh, really?" She turned to Simon. "Go ahead, I'll be right behind you."

"Um..." Simon said. A crash came from the corridor to his left. "Right, thanks." He kissed Agatha on the cheek and took off in a run.

The crash, unbeknownst to Simon, had been caused by Baz knocking over a suit of armor. He was having trouble walking, and not in the fun way.

Elspeth watched over him worriedly. "Are you sure you don't need help?"

"I'm fine," Baz said, knocking into a wall. "I'm fine."

"I don't think you are, actually-" Penny was saying, when the Count appeared.

"Hello, my name is Penelope Bunce. You plagiarized my mother. Prepare to die!" Penny said.

The Count paused, took a look at her, and fled. Penny chased after him.

"Oh, dear," Elspeth said, watching Penny leave. "I hope she finds us again." She turned to Baz.

Baz wasn't there anymore.

"Bad _canus homo sapiens_ ," Elspeth muttered, smacking herself on the forehead.

 

("I don't think that's a proper scientific term," Cath said.

"Nooooo," Wren said. "Really?"

"You know what I mean.")

 

Penny chased the Count into a billiard room. She came through the door, said, "Hello, my name is-" and got hit in the gut by a dagger.

"Pathetic," the Count said.

"I will- avenge- my mother," Penny choked out, slumping to the floor. She pulled out the dagger and pressed her free hand to the wound.

"You're Bunce's daughter?" The Count laughed. "This is marvelous. You do realize that I didn't kill her, don't you? I was practically doing the university a favor. They saved money when they closed down her department-"

"How dare you," Penny snarled, and thrust at him with her sword. The Count neatly sidestepped the blade, so that it only snagged at his cloak.

"You're a failure," he told Penny.

"Am not," Penny said, and twirled the sword.

It had caught in the fabric of the Count's cloak, and now the cloak tore and slid from his shoulders.

Penny stared.

("Oh my god, Wren-"

"Let me finish! Geez.")

Penny stared. Under the cloak and hood, the Count was a tall, broad-shouldered blond man. He would have been beautiful if not for the enormous handlebar mustache.

"Simon?" Penny asked. She got to her feet, slipping in her own blood. "That's- that's what you didn't want anyone to know? You're _his_ soul-construct? This doesn't make any sense!"

The Count backed away from her. "His father was a great mage. He knew Simon was destined for greatness, and he wanted to keep him safe. As long as one of us lives, neither of us can die."

"Immortality is so fecking immoral," Penny said. "And completely against university guidelines." She stabbed at the Count.

"Would you kill your prince?" the Count asked.

"Please. You think I didn't read my mother's research? This won't kill him." She hacked at the Count again, and again, disarming him. "Besides, the monarchy is an outdated establishment." She sliced the Count's left cheek, and then the other.

"What are you doing?" the Count asked.

"That was payback," Penny said. She cut deep into his chest. "And now I'm cutting your heart out," Penny said. "And by the way," another cut, "My mother," another, "is an amazing researcher," another, last cut, and Penny stabbed the Count's heart, removing it from his chest, "and academia should not be ruled by money!"

The Count fell to the ground, ashen, before deteriorating into a shriveled husk, his mustache the only recognizable part of him left.

Penelope threw up.

"Simon-" the Princess raced into the room. Her veil had fallen off, and her hair had come free of its pins, and she had hiked up the heavy skirts of her wedding dress so she could run. "Oh. Is that the-?"

"The Count," Penny said, wiping her mouth. "He was a spell, and now he's dead."

"Oh, thank god," the Princess said, dropping her skirts. "You saved me at least three new laws and a very messy PR campaign."

Penny stared at her.

"Not to mention all the people he probably would have killed," the Princess continued. "Really, I owe you a favor."

"...You could divorce Simon?" Penny said weakly.

"We're not really married." The Princess came over to look at the count's remains. She wrinkled her nose delicately. "Ew."

"You're not really married," Penny repeated.

"And now I'll have to instate a separation between church and state. I need to rehaul a lot of our policies, actually. Not to mention hire a bunch of new guards."

"I thought the King did all that," Penny said. She was feeling a little weak-headed. It was probably the loss of blood.

"I love my father, but he's very old and very sick. He's going to die very soon," Agatha said sadly.

Penny nodded. "I met Lucinda."

Agatha winced. "Anyways, I've been ruling the kingdom for years. Um, would you like a reward or something? I could always use a new sergeant of the guards."

"Actually, I think I'm done with sword fighting," Penny said.

"What will you do, then?"

"Why do you care?" Penny asked.

Agatha blushed. "I owe you."

"Well, I do have a degree in poli-sci..."

Agatha brightened. "You do?"

 

("Gut wounds are not conducive to romance," Cath said.

"Neither is the flu, but Levi's coming over to see you, isn't he?")

 

Simon ran down the twisty palace corridors. The muffled clanks and thuds had stopped a while ago, and now he was counting on dumb luck to lead him to Baz. That, and true love.

He burst through a door into a room he vaguely recognized as what was supposed to be his bridal suite, but that didn't matter, because Baz was lying on the bed.

"Baz," Simon breathed, and threw himself at his beloved. "Oh, Baz, my darling!"

"Gently," Baz said, as all one hundred and fifty pounds of Simon landed on top of him. "Ow."

"How can you say gently at a time like this?" Simon asked, kissing Baz fervently. "I thought you wouldn't come. I sent out letters to you, but they didn't go out, and I thought I would die! Oh, Baz, please forgive me!"

"Of course I forgive you," Baz said, slightly winded. "I love you, Simon."

"I love you too, Baz." Simon beamed at him. "I'm so glad I didn't get married."

"You didn't?" Baz asked.

"He didn't," Agatha said, walking through the door with Penny's arm slung over her shoulder.

Baz leaped up from the bed. "You!"

"No, Baz, it's all right-" Simon began, and clapped his hands over his mouth when Baz keeled over backwards onto the bed. "Baz!"

"It's all right, he's only undead, or mostly dead or whatever it is," Penny said. "I think he needs a bit of blood to revive him."

"A bit of-" Agatha shook her head and lowered Penny into a chair. "Simon, you have the oddest taste."

"He wasn't a vampire when I met him," Simon said. "Besides, it doesn't matter. I'd do anything for Baz." He took Baz's sword.

"Sweet, but a bit dense," Penny remarked.

"Excuse me?" Simon said.

"I think that's the blood loss talking," Agatha said hastily.

"Blood loss?"

"I'm bleeding," Penny said. "I'll be all right. It's very convenient for you, however." She held out a blood-covered hand, winced, and pressed it back to her wound again. "Take some."

"I can't do that," Simon said.

"Consider it my apology for helping kidnap you," Penny said.

"You know, I think the Count engineered that," Agatha said thoughtfully. "By the way, he's dead."

Penny very wisely kept her mouth shut.

"All right," Simon said uneasily. He tore the sleeve of his wedding tunic- Agatha winced- and soaked it in the blood. Then he dripped it into Baz's mouth.

"You can't have Simon, he's mine," Baz said, as the blood slid down his throat.

Simon smiled at him. "It's all sorted out," he assured Baz.

"That's nice," Baz said uncertainly.

"Is there anyone there?" Elspeth said.

They all paused.

"Hello? Baz? Penny? It's kind of lonely out here."

"Yes, Elspeth, we're up here," Penny called. Her face was drawn, but she managed to get up and walk over to the window.

"Oh, good! I was hoping for a friendly face! I got lost, and then I remembered that I could find you by smell, and Baz is a vampire so he has a very strong smell."

"Hey," Baz objected.

"So I found you! Kind of," Elspeth amended. "Are we escaping now?"

"Ah," Penny said. She bit her lip as pain lanced through her, and Agatha came over to hold her up.

"Is that the Princess?" Elspeth called out.

"Yes, but she's on our side," Simon called out.

"That's nice," Elspeth said. "Are we still escaping?"

"Yes," Baz said firmly.

"That would be a good idea," Agatha agreed. "The less fuss, the better. Tomorrow everyone will have horrible hangovers and they'll accept anything I say if it comes with a glass of water."

"I can catch you," Elspeth said. "Just jump out the window, but one at a time, please."

So Baz jumped out, and Simon after him, and Agatha turned to Penny and asked, "Do you need help?"

"Actually," Penny said, "I think I'd like to stay. Help out, you know." She gave Agatha a sideways glance. "If you don't mind."

"Not at all," Agatha said, beaming.

Simon, now on a horse, turned to Elspeth. "Does your friend like women?"

"Yes," Elspeth said.

Baz rolled his eyes. "Subtle."

"What? I'm just curious. Agatha was very nice to me, you know. She tries hard. She'll make a great Queen."

"I think you'd make a great pirate," Baz said, smirking at him.

"Do you?" Simon asked, looking at Baz through his eyelashes.

"Gross," Elspeth said.

They waved goodbye to Agatha and Penny and rode away from the castle.

"Could your ship drop me off at Canus?" Elspeth asked, when they were much nearer the port. "I think I'd like to go home again."

"I don't see why not," said the Dread Vampirate Tyrannus, ruler of the high seas.

 

They docked at Greyhound Port. The crew waved goodbye to Elspeth, who waved back.

"Where do you want to go next?" Baz asked Simon, his arms around his beloved's waist.

Simon smiled softly and leaned backwards into Baz's embrace. "Anywhere," he said.

 

(There was a knock on the door.

"It's open," Wren said.

"I know, but my hands are kind of full," Levi said.

Cath perked up, pushing herself into a proper sitting position. "Hi!"

"Hi," Levi called back.

Wren rolled her eyes. "You two are disgusting," she said fondly, getting up to open the door.

"Hello to you too," Levi said to her. He held up the bags in his hands. "I've got tea, soup, and every cold medicine known to man."

"You didn't have to," Cath croaked, smiling at him. The effect was rather awful, what with the runny nose and the hair clinging to her forehead, but Levi returned the smile as if she were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"I'll leave you guys to it," Wren said, shrugging on her coat.

"Thanks, Wren," Cath said.

"You're welcome, oh sister mine," Wren said. She slung her bag over one shoulder. "Have fun. Try not to infect him." She shut the door on Levi informing Cath that he wouldn't mind her infecting him at all.)


End file.
